


A Small Act of Bravery

by Smediterranea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smediterranea/pseuds/Smediterranea
Summary: By the end of the year it was apparent that the joke of having Neville Longbottom masquerade as a wizard-in-training was going to drag on for seven years (if, that was, he could actually manage to get any O.W.L.s). Neville decided to take matters into his own hands. If he could not make himself a better flier, or remember passwords, or improve his potions skills, then he would have to improve something else, something that would ensure that no one would question Neville’s presence at Hogwarts.Neville would be brave.





	A Small Act of Bravery

Most of his first year, it seemed like someone was playing a trick on him. Any minute, someone would come collect his wand and laugh in his face. “You really thought that _you_ were a wizard? Pathetic!”

Neville knew that in some subjects, he could pass for a decent beginner. Charms was straightforward, History of Magic was easy if you could stay awake, and Defense was a bit of a joke given that Professor Quirrell seemed more afraid of dark creatures than Neville was.

But then there was Potions, which never failed to make him doubt himself. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to get anything right. Professor Snape haunted his nightmares where his wand was snapped in half while his Gran and Uncle Archie watched, saying, _“I knew the boy just didn’t have his father’s talent. Pity.”_ To top it all off, he was an abysmal flier, always got stuck in trick stairs and passageways, and could never seem to remember the password to Gryffindor Tower.

His one sanctuary was Herbology. When he was with the plants, surrounded by damp earth and warmed by the sun, it did not seem to matter so much that he had not made any close friends, or that people made fun of him. He was good with plants, and given that they were alive, that was almost as good as having friends, even if the conversations were a bit one-sided.

Still, Herbology alone could not stop his worrying that he was just not cut out for Hogwarts. He was not supposed to be a Gryffindor; he was not brave, not like Harry Potter and his friends, who always seemed to get into trouble. The rumor around Halloween was that they had faced the troll that had been loose in the castle. Neville knew that if he came across a troll, he was more likely to run away screaming than to try to stop it.

By the end of the year it was apparent that the joke of having Neville Longbottom masquerade as a wizard-in-training was going to drag on for seven years (if, that was, he could actually manage to get any O.W.L.s). Neville decided to take matters into his own hands. If he could not make himself a better flier, or remember passwords, or improve his potions skills, then he would have to improve something else, something that would ensure that no one would question Neville’s presence at Hogwarts.

Neville would be brave.

It started with small acts of bravery that he hoped would strengthen his character enough so that he could do some really brave things, like saving people or standing up to Professor Snape.

First, he studied extra hard in Transfiguration so that the next day he could answer a question. And while he did not get called on, as Hermione Granger was faster and more accurate, he saw that Professor McGonagall seemed impressed by his raised hand.

From there, he built up steam. He went on long walks by himself around the castle and was not afraid to ask for directions back to the Great Hall if he got lost. He asked Dean and Seamus to play Exploding Snap with him and was delighted that they seemed to enjoy playing with him, at least until all of their eyebrows were singed off.

It was the last week of school when he did two brave things, one for which he was given credit and one which was a secret.

Everyone knew that Neville Longbottom stood up to Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger as they snuck out at night. They knew that Dumbledore thought that this act of bravery, of standing up to one’s own friends, deserved ten house points. They knew that Neville was the reason they won the House Cup, and that he could not speak because he was so overwhelmed that suddenly everyone wanted to talk to him. After a year of feeling lost and alone, his whole house, even the undeniably cool seventh years, wanted to shake his hand and toast him. He was a hero.

All of this was well and good, but Neville knew that he had done something much braver that day, something much harder than facing one’s friends: facing his true fear.

That afternoon he had done the bravest thing in his short life when he went to the library and sat in the back corner and read a book, _The Rise of the Dark Arts: Infamous Criminals and Nefarious Creatures_. And right there, on page two hundred and thirty-three to two hundred and forty-one, was a biography on Bellatrix Lestrange.

He was terrified of her. He knew that there had been others who had helped torture his parents to insanity, but hers was the name that was said in the most hushed, most frightened tones. The book did not paint a pretty picture either. Bellatrix Lestrange was as renown for her cruelty as her power, both most evident by the act that imprisoned her in Azkaban — Neville’s heart skipped a beat upon reading— the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom.

That night as he lay in bed for a few short hours before the train home, he decided that being brave would not protect him from the ills of the world and perhaps he was better off being a coward.

***

By his fifth year, Neville knew that his attempts to become brave were about to be tested. The return of Voldemort, the escape of the Lestranges from Azkaban, and the rise of Umbridge meant that now, more than ever, he would have to stand for what was right. With the rest of Dumbledore’s Army, he felt, if not brave, then at least resolved to stand and fight.

Then it came time to fight, and he realized his bravado was as pitiful as his potions-making. He and his friends had barely escaped the Department of Mysteries with their lives.

So what if he had managed to produce a Patronus with Dumbledore’s Army in the safety of the Room of Requirement? It certainly hadn’t stopped Death Eaters from hurting his friends and destroying his father’s wand. Neville felt ashamed that his Patronus had been a lion, or at least it certainly looked that way before it disappeared. He had only managed to do it once, but somehow he had convinced himself that this was a sign of a true Gryffindor. Pathetic!

Neville knew that now the war would come, a real war. No more childish pranks on Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad, not when there were Death Eaters and Voldemort himself to deal with. 

But first, Neville would have to face the wrath of his Gran.

“Come along, Neville!” She had barely spoken a word to him since collecting him at Platform 9 3/4. Now, heaving his trunk up the stairs to he house, Neville braced himself for her anger. Her curt manner was no different than usual, but Neville knew it was only a matter of time before she addressed the fact that he had destroyed his father’s most valuable possession. They had barely entered the house when she steered him onto the living room settee. 

“Sit.”

Neville waited, squirming under her gaze. He wished that she would just get it over with. He froze, shocked, when he heard her sniff, and not in a disapproving way. It sounded as if she was trying not to cry.

“Your father would have been very upset with you, Neville.” He resumed his squirming, pleased that she wasn’t going to cry but now fearing the worst scolding of his life. “You deliberately left school to fight You-Know-Who’s followers with only a band of fifteen-year-olds with you! Didn’t even consider contacting an adult! You could’ve been killed! Completely irresponsible, irrational —”

“Gran, I had to go!” he shouted, surprising himself and his grandmother into silence. As she struggled to regain her voice, he pressed on, “Harry would’ve gone all by himself if we hadn’t helped, and I _know_ it was dangerous, but we had been training all year—”

“Training!” He winced at the shrill pitch, bracing himself for the next onslaught. “Oh, yes, Dumbledore’s Army! I was well informed by Minerva McGonagall herself! Training, indeed! You think practicing a few defense spells makes you prepared to take on fully trained wizards, including the maniacs who attacked your parents —”

“Better I take them on with my friends than let them go alone!”

“None of you should have gone at all!”

“You’ve never tried to stop Harry; it doesn’t work —”

“So for all this ‘training’ you’ve done, you couldn’t even Stun him?” She paused, raising her eyebrows as Neville glared at her. She was right, of course, but it stung that she had so little faith in his abilities. Then again, he hadn’t exactly proven his fighting skills, had he? He sighed, and his Gran looked more than a little surprised when he continued.

“You’re right, Gran. I should’ve tried harder to stop them. But Voldemort’s back!” Her eyes widened at her grandson’s utterance of You-Know-Who’s name, but she did not interrupt. “You know what’s going to happen, Gran. I’m too young to fight now, but some day, I’ll have to.”

“You don’t have to fight anyone, Neville!”

“Yes, I do! I can’t sit by when people are being hurt because they’re not in line with Voldemort’s ideas! I’m sorry, Gran, but you always told me to do the right thing and I know that this is the right thing to do.”

There was a long silence punctuated only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. He jumped when his Gran cleared her throat.

“I don’t suppose I can stop you from doing the right thing, not when I’ve urged you to do so for so long. But I don’t think you’ll be able to do much of anything without a proper wand. Put your trunk upstairs and we’ll be off to Diagon Alley to get you a new one.”

Neville gave a hesitant smile, turning to drag his trunk up the stairs when his Gran spoke again.

“You know, I gave you your father’s wand rather hoping you’d turn out to be as brave as him. It was foolish, I suppose; a wand doesn’t make you brave. You’ve been brave all along...” She trails off with a half smile, one he had hardly ever seen.

He thought perhaps it was better to be brave after all, even if he did make a fool of himself trying.

*****

Neville knew this was it. With Gran gone and unscathed, the Carrows could no longer use the threat of harming her to try to keep him in line. Soon they would come to get him, ready to use anything at their disposal to get rid of him. Given Nevill’s current status as the last leader of the resistance against Hogwart’s new regime, his capture and humiliation would crush the morale of those who still had hope.

Neville had finally proved he was brave enough to stand up for himself and now he would have to run, like a coward. He would go to the Room of Requirement and hope that he would still be able to contact the members of the D.A. and continue the fight against the Carrows.

He had one final plan to sabotage the Carrows, but he knew with each passing minute, they were searching the castle for him, eager to hurt the man who had undermined their authority since the minute he had stepped on the Hogwarts Express. He walked slowly and deliberately down the corridor, pausing only to drop the seeds of his plan every few meters. The seeds were _Philibus Tempora_ , a weed that would spring up at passers-by and delay them by weaving around their feet, emitting an irritatingly high-pitch squeal. The corridor in question contained the offices and sleeping quarters of both Carrows, whom, as he had correctly assumed, were staking out Gryffindor Tower, waiting for him to come down to dinner.

With a sigh, he left the corridor to head to the Room of Requirement, wishing that he could see the cozy common room and his warm bed one last time. But there was no time to waste; soon students would be coming down to dinner and surely someone (probably a Slytherin) would spot him and report him to the Carrows. 

“Neville?”

He froze. He had not expected to be caught so soon. He whirled around and gave a sigh of relief. It was Hannah Abbott, looking very concerned, wringing her hands as she approached him. He gave a very strained smile. He knew his leaving would upset Hannah; they had become friends in the past year and Hannah, being the good Hufflepuff that she was, was adamant that all her friends stay close so that they could keep each other safe.

“Neville, is it true?”

Neville said nothing. He thought about all the times Hannah had helped him the past year in his plots against the Carrows, even though she had been scared. To leave her, worried and alone, would be a gross act of betrayal. Neville could not do that to such a good person. He did not want to leave Hannah behind as he ran away.

And, of course, there was the fact that he fancied her like mad.

Neville had never been good with girls; he had the tendency to fall for the wrong girl at the wrong time. At first he had fancied Hermione, but that had only lasted a month or so before he realized that she was a bit too bossy for him, like his Gran. Still, he gladly accepted her help in potions and hoped that she and Ron Weasley had finally gotten together. 

Then he fancied Ginny Weasley, only to find that she still liked the famous Boy-Who-Lived and had only agreed to go to the Yule Ball with him because there was really no other way she could go. His crush for his fizzled out, and he was grateful for their friendship. She had been a major part in helping him the past year against the Carrows. He hoped she was safe, wherever she was.

In between fourth and seventh year, there were half a dozen other girls who had struck his fancy at one point or another, but nothing ever seemed to work out. They were all nice to Neville, but they all were looking for one thing: friendship. Neville’s sense of chivalry had not allowed him to be any more than a friend when the girl he fancied had just broken up with her boyfriend or failed a test even though he wanted to sweep them off their feet. They weren’t interested in him, so he left them alone.

He supposed his relationship with Hannah was much of the same thing. They had known each other for years but had never really taken notice of one another until seventh year. Sure, they had been partners in Herbology all throughout sixth year, but he knew that she fancied Terry Boot at the time, and once again, he put his feelings on the back burner to be a supportive friend. It was only after Dumbledore’s death that they became very close; they both needed someone to reach out to in these dark times.

Dark times. The wrong time. As usual.

And so now he stood in front of Hannah, watching her wring her hands (the hands he wanted to hold) and bite her lips (the lips he wanted to kiss), cursing his luck for the thousandth time.

Hannah, meanwhile, had taken Neville’s silence as confirmation that the Carrows were after him for what they hoped to be the last time. As much as it pained her to say goodbye to him, she knew that his only chance was to escape. Since she could not bring herself to say the words, she threw her arms around him and held him tightly.

Neville was not used to such a close embrace. Gran had never been one for open affection and none of his friends ever really hugged him. Well, there was Luna, he supposed, but her hugs were as light and misty as the rest of her. No, this was a real hug, one meant to say things that were better left unsaid in times of danger.  
“Please, Neville, take care of yourself.” 

Neville, for his part, pretended that he did not hear the crack in her voice, or feel the tear drops on his shoulder. He merely held her tighter and whispered, “We’ll see each other soon, Hannah. I won’t be too far.” This did not seem to console her as he would have liked, and he felt the damp spot on his robes grow as tears rolled down her face.

When her tears subsided and she pulled away, she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. Neville was touched by what he saw; a woman whose heart was filled with worry and sorrow, but one who stayed strong for her friends. She seemed a bit ashamed to have cried in front of him, he noticed, but a reassuring hand on her shoulder seemed to soften her face a bit.

He knew he only had a few minutes left before the Carrows gave up their stake out and searched the castle for him. He gave Hannah’s shoulder one last squeeze.

“Goodbye, Hannah.”

“Goodbye, Neville.”

And in one last act of bravery, Neville took a step towards her and kissed her full on the mouth.

She seemed very surprised, and she did not throw her arms around him like he had always dreamed she would. But she did not pull away, and when Neville finally broke the kiss, he saw that she was grinning much wider than she had all year.

“Longbottom’s down there! Come on!”

Hannah’s face fell in fear, but Neville had already turned away. He kept his last image of her, grinning and flushed with pleasure, fresh in his mind as he sprinted down the hall, away from the Carrows and towards freedom.

****

Neville had not slept as much as he thought he would, but four hours was all he needed to feel alert enough to go out and help. Now, of course, eighteen hours later, he was sore and stiff and wondered if it was possible to sleep an entire lifetime.

He had started off helping sort through the battle field, but found this to be an exhausting task; after he had found Lavender Brown’s favorite locket lying in the dirt, covered in her own blood, he had given up. He could not face the destruction of human life, good or bad, so he decided to change efforts to help save them. He then spent the rest of his very long day in the greenhouses, digging, cutting, and repotting to gather enough magical plants for Madam Pomfrey’s very busy hospital wing.

Neville was so busy, in fact, that he had no idea to whom his plants were being sent. Every time someone came in to fetch another batch of leaves he held up his hand, stopping them from naming the ailing patient. It was easier to work if he did not know what was at stake.

At the end of the day, however, he had been too tired to stop the last name from being spoken. Dean and Seamus had come to help Neville bring up the last bundle to the Hospital Wing when Dean said something that made Neville’s heart drop.

“Thanks, Nev. Between Hannah and Professor Slughorn, Madam Pomfrey’s going to need a lot of this.”

“Wh-what?”

“Hannah Abbott and Professor Slughorn. I’m not exactly sure what happened to Hannah. Slughorn got a nasty cutting curse and it looks pretty infected— probably some sort of side effect from another hex. I think I heard Terry Boot say Hannah got slashed trying to save some of the other Hufflepuffs. From what, I don’t know, but it looks pretty bad...” 

Dean trailed off, unaware of the look of horror plastered on Neville’s face. Seamus, however, was rather more subdued than normal and whispered to Neville as they neared the Hospital Wing, “I think Madam Pomfrey’s a bit too busy to enforce visiting hours right now.”

Moments later, Neville found Hannah’s cot and pulled up one of the few remaining chairs to sit by her. Finding that he could not look at her alarmingly pale face for long, he buried his head in his hands.

What was the use in heroics if people still got hurt? Had he really thought standing up to Voldemort would protect his friends? Had he been so blind as to think that Harry’s final Expelliarmus would make everything go back to the way it was?

They would have to rebuild Hogwarts, the Ministry, the entire wizard community. There would still be fear and hatred: revulsion of werewolves despite the heroism of Remus Lupin, prejudice against Muggle-borns despite the brilliance of those like Hermione Granger, disdain for magical creatures like house-elves and centaurs, all of whom had fought as bravely as Neville and his friends. How could Neville help in these gargantuan tasks? He could lead a group of guerilla soldiers in subverting the school, but changing the face of the wizarding world? It seemed impossible.

Lost in his thoughts, Neville had not noticed Hannah stirring. She did not attempt to speak; Madam Pomfrey had told her the best way to heal the large gash on her chest was to lie still and let the potions do their work. She watched Neville, lost in thought, and wondered what had happened to her friends. She had been outside when she had been hit, too weak to call for help. She lost consciousness shortly after hearing Voldemort’s high voice, daring Harry to meet him and stop the fight.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she had whispered before her eyes had closed.

The next few hours were a strange blur. She knew some must have been a hallucination: she had spoken with her mother, who had been killed by Death Eaters months before, and there seemed to be a number of unicorns running around the school grounds. But some things had seemed very real indeed. She had heard the high voice of Voldemort again, the screams of her peers, a cry of “Dumbledore’s Army!” that she knew in her heart had to be Neville. There were images, too, of Neville with a sword, Hagrid crying, house elves prepared for battle. The last thing she knew were callused hands brushing hair from her face, whispering as she was levitated onto a stretcher. She did not know how long she had been in the Hospital Wing, but she was not anxious to leave. Leaving meant facing the fact that many of her friends had been hurt or killed. For now, she was content to watch Neville as he ran his hands through his hair.

After half an hour of mulling over his thoughts, Neville came to the conclusion that having spent seven years at Hogwarts trying to be brave, it would be impossible to turn away from the task at hand. He would help rebuild Hogwarts, and he would help those who needed it after the war. He had heard several conversations in the Hospital Wing that hinted at permanent injuries; he would find a way to make their lives easier. He needed something to be brave for, something to remind him that he had fought so that the world could be this way.

When he finally gathered his courage to look back at Hannah’s sleeping form, he was surprised to find her very much awake. She gave him a soft smile and reached for his hand. He found himself unable to look away, but he no longer felt afraid. He would be brave for Hannah.

***

Five years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Neville knows he’ll never quite get used to the anniversary celebrations. It’s the one day each year where almost every witch and wizard seems to lose their heads making quite a loud ruckus, sharing stories and setting off fireworks, everyone except those who fought in the battle themselves. For all the Weasley’s Whizbangs George sells prior to May 2nd, Neville knows that he does not set off any himself. Harry seems to disappear into thin air for a twenty-four hour period, as do Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. Even Luna, always seemingly unaffected by the harsh realities of the world, vanishes the first week of May claiming to search for an elusive creature. Neville knows she’s really at home with her father, helping tend to the garden and painting even more murals on the side of the house.

Neville, although uneasy, always walks down Diagon Alley. He is sometimes stopped and asked questions, which he politely answers without any extraneous details. He is more often given tokens of appreciation: flowers, chocolates, once a Fanged Frisbee that bit a hole in his robes. These he gives away to the first person he finds who is still grieving for their lost friends, although he did keep the Frisbee to give to George as pay back for the canary creams he always manages to slip him. Twice he’s met dark, threatening figures promising revenge for their Dark Lord, but they never make it out of Diagon Alley without being hauled off for questioning by the Auror department. Members of Dumbledore’s Army still keep their coins close in their pockets in case things like this happen.

There are two reasons Neville walks this path every year: the first is simply to appease the joyous crowds demanding a war hero’s presence. His friends are always thankful to avoid the spotlight at this time of year and as Ron Weasley told him, “they’d be hard pressed to find anything bad to say about you, mate”. Neville had tried to protest that the same could be true for his friends, but Ginny had merely laughed and pointed out that Neville was the least likely to hex a nosy reporter. This had made Hermione blush furiously, as it had been rumored she had done so after a reporter asked her if Ron Weasley was as much of a hero in bed as he was in the Auror department.

But the real reason Neville walks down Diagon Alley every May 2nd is the same reason he walks down it every day. 

He steps out into the street, firmly shutting the door of the shop Florence’s Flora, where he works as a Master Herbologist. Neville feels a twinge of excitement leaving the shop, for as much as he’s learned here, he’s hopeful of a new job opening. Professor Sprout had contacted him earlier about her imminent retirement and wondered perhaps if he would be interested in the vacancy. Never had he dreamed of being a professor at the school he once thought himself too weak and cowardly to attend, but he rather liked the sound of “Professor Longbottom”. In the midst of his indecision to apply, he realized he had already drawn up a semester’s worth of curriculum for fifth years. He sent in his resume the next morning and was anxiously awaiting his interview the following week.

Neville travels down the familiar path until he arrives, laden with roses and a giant stuffed hippogriff, to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Neville? Is that you under there?”

And suddenly, his vision is cleared of the giant furry monstrosity he’s been carrying and he beholds his favorite site in the whole world: Hannah Abbott, smiling sweetly, waiting to be kissed.

Well, he hopes she’s been waiting to be kissed, because that’s what he eagerly sets about doing. Hannah appears to have no objections.

“Hi,” he says finally, a little embarrassed to find that many of the patrons are staring.

“Hello yourself,” she whispers. She takes him by the hand away from the watching customers. He hands off the hippogriff to a small child who squeals with glee. The roses he keeps for Hannah. He follows her upstairs to her room, where they will have their own quiet celebration, remembering those they have lost and wondering what the future will bring. There is a velvet box Neville has tucked away in his bedroom that he will soon muster up the courage to unearth. His mother’s engagement ring is inside; he knows when Hannah smiles at him that soon it will be hers.

He closes his eyes as she whispers in his ear, running her small hands over the front of his robes. He grins down at her as he lifts her into the air, laughing with delight. Perhaps their celebration won’t be so quiet after all.


End file.
